


A Witch, Not a Warlock

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Series: Kurtoberfest 2015 [29]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Daddy!Sebastian, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Halloween, M/M, Married Couple, Trick or Treating, daddies!kurtbastian, daddy!kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas has a unique request for what he wants to be for Halloween, which Kurt is more than happy to help him with, but it ends up coming with some unexpected stress...and an equally unexpected revelation on Kurt's part.</p><p>Written for the Kurtoberfest prompt 'trick or treat'. Warning for anxiety and a lot of parental concern.</p><p>Also written as part of my Daddies series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Witch, Not a Warlock

“What an adorable little warlock!”

Kurt sighs to himself. It’s the first comment like this that they’ve gotten so far, but they’re only at the first house on the block. Kurt knows it’s not going to be the last.

“Actually,” Kurt says, putting his hands protectively on Thomas’s shoulders, preparing to deflect whatever unintendedly offensive remark his explanation might garner, “he’s dressed as a witch this year for Halloween, not a warlock.”

“Oh?” The woman at the door, holding a bowl filled with Butterfinger bars, sizes Thomas up and down. Kurt’s son stands on the woman’s doorstep dressed in a black, ankle-length gown that Kurt designed and made; holding an authentically-styled besom, which Kurt and Thomas created together using twigs they gathered in their front yard. Kurt spent close to an hour doing Thomas’s makeup, covering the boy’s skin with green face paint, shading his cheeks and eyes in black to make his chubby-cheeked, cherub boy look sinister (which didn’t work too well since Thomas’s natural cuteness prevailed against Kurt’s makeup mastery). Kurt even fashioned a hooked nose prosthetic and wart from liquid latex. Kurt went through all of this in the hopes that Thomas would look undeniably, unmistakably like a witch. Apparently, it didn’t work as well as he thought. “But, aren’t male witches traditionally called warlocks?”

“Maybe,” Kurt says, keeping his voice bright and his disposition cheery for as long as he can before he’s forced to call in for reinforcements, “but Thomas decided he wanted to be a _witch_ for Halloween, so that’s what he is.”

“Yup,” Thomas says proudly, holding his bag up for his piece of candy, “and Hepburn is my animal familiar.” Thomas looks over his raised arm at his Labradoodle, sitting patiently beside him. The woman’s eyes follow, raising a brow at the dusty-brown colored service dog. Thomas leans in close to the lady putting two bars of chocolate in his bag. “We were going to dress him up as a cat, but I thought that might be a little mean. You know…because he’s a dog.”

“Gotcha.” The woman gives Thomas a wink that, thankfully, looks genuine. “Well, you definitely have my vote for best witch costume this year,” she says. “Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween,” Kurt says, smiling as he steers Thomas down the street. He breathes a sigh of relief, but it doesn’t calm him. They’ve just started their route. They still have about three blocks of houses to go.

And each one goes about the way Kurt pictured it.

_Knock-knock._

“Trick or Treat!”

“What an adorable warlock!”

“I’m a witch.”

“He’s a witch.”

“But isn’t a male witch called a warlock?”

“Normally, I suppose, but this year Thomas wanted to be a witch. So, he’s a witch. Trick or Treat!”

_Knock-knock._

“Trick or Treat!”

“Look at the cute war---“

“Witch. He’s a witch.”

“I’m a witch.”

“But, aren’t male witches…”

“Still a witch. Happy Halloween!”

_Knock-knock._

“Trick or Treat!”

“Oh, Thomas! What an inspired little warlock---“

“Witch! He’s a witch He’s dressed as a witch this year, not a warlock!” There’s an awkward moment of quiet staring between Kurt and the matronly lady at the front door. His smile, about as fake as his exhausted, twitchy lips can form, somehow grows to meet the lines wrinkling his stressed brow. “Happy Halloween!”

By the twenty-fifth house, Kurt’s face is frozen with strain. He’s smiling too tight and grinding his teeth. Before people open their mouths to say anything about his son’s costume, Kurt barks out, “Witch! He’s a witch. Not a warlock, but a witch. He wanted to be a witch, so he’s a witch. Got it? Trick or Treat!”

If Sebastian was going door-to-door with them instead of manning their own front door with a bowl of full-sized Snickers, he would joke that people are giving Thomas two candy bars instead of the requisite one (which they are) not because he’s so damn adorable (which he is) but because they want crazy-eyes Kurt Hummel-Smythe to go away and not come back later in the night to torch their houses.

_Knock-knock._

“Trick or Treat!”

“Oh, Thomas!” Mrs. Henderson, one of their older neighbors, with a son already grown and gone, puts a slightly shaking hand to her lips as she gets a good look at the beaming boy on her doorstep. “Don’t you make the sweetest little---“

“Witch!” Kurt cuts in, his reaction a reflex by now. “He’s a witch!”

Mrs. Henderson stares at Kurt, wide-eyed with surprise, but aims a delighted smile at Thomas.

“I was just about to say what a smart little witch you make, Thomas,” she says. “And what a bold costume choice.”

“Thank you,” Thomas says, rolling on his heels and waiting patiently for his candy.

“You know, when my Artie was seven, he wanted to be Malibu Barbie for Halloween.”

Kurt’s stiff veneer softens at the green-eyed woman addressing his little boy.

“Really?” Kurt asks, astonished.

“Yup,” she says. “He’d made up his mind the second those dolls hit the shelves, and asked me for a costume every day after that. Told everyone we knew about it. Even told people on the street.”

“Why did he want to be Barbie so badly?” Kurt asks, relaxing enough to lean against the doorframe, no longer gearing up for an argument.

“Well, look at her!” Mrs. Henderson chuckles. “She had a dream house, a Corvette, she was a doctor, went to the moon, flew a plane, she was even president.”

“True,” Kurt agrees, surprised that he’d never thought of it that way. With the way people always cry out to ban Barbie for promoting an unhealthy body image, Kurt had overlooked all of the positive things Barbie has done in her life, things little girls (and boys) should be encouraged to try and do.

The conversation pauses while Mrs. Henderson reaches for a treat for Thomas, the inevitable question hanging in the air, but Kurt feels like a hypocrite for considering asking it.

“My Artie isn’t homosexual,” Mrs. Henderson says, answering the question anyway, as if she knew that’s what Kurt was waiting for. She tucks a popcorn ball and a Three Musketeers into Thomas’s bag. “But that wouldn’t have mattered. Barbie is a role model as far as I’m concerned, and I felt there was nothing wrong with it. Other people” – She shrugs – “well, you know what they say about opinions and butt holes.”

“Mrs. Henderson!” Thomas exclaims with a giggle. Kurt laughs.

“Yeah, I know,” Kurt says with a wink. “So, what did you do?”

“Well, I made him two costumes that year,” she explains. “I made him a Malibu Barbie costume - the gold swimsuit with a pink cover-up shirt that ties in the front, and a big blonde wig. But I also made him a Superman costume with a cape and…” Mrs. Henderson shakes her head. “You know, I knew which one he was going to pick, so I put extra time and effort into it.”

“Which one was he?” Kurt asks, on the edge of his proverbial seat.

Mrs. Henderson puts a finger up, reaching out to a shelf by the door for a photo album. She flips a few pages, then shows Kurt and Thomas a photograph of a smiling boy in a blonde wig, wearing a gold bathing suit with a pink cover-up.

“Oh my goodness!” Kurt chuckles. “He looks adorable!”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Henderson says, holding the album lower for Thomas to see. “You know, there were three other children dressed as Barbie that year, but he was the cutest. Everyone said so.”

“Where’s that costume now?”

“Artie’s daughter wore it for Halloween a few years back,” she says, returning the album to its shelf. “This year she wanted to be Cobra from G.I. Joe, and you know, no one gave her any grief about it. Most people think it’s cute, her being a fan of _boy_ things.”

Kurt nods. “Strange, huh?”

“Meh,” the older woman says with a wave of her hand. “It’s the way of human beings to try and stick everybody in a little box with their name on it, and three lines maximum saying who they are, but there’s only one time in your life you should ever let that happen, and even then, make sure you approve of the summary.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, catching her meaning. “Good night, Mrs. Henderson. Thanks so much for everything.”

“Yup,” Thomas agrees, happy to move on since most of the conversation had started going over his head. “Three Musketeers are my favorites!”

“I’m glad,” she says, giving Kurt and Thomas a final wave. “Have a safe night.” She backs into her house and closes the door, and the smile on Kurt’s face starts to look a little less manic.

Energized after their discussion with Mrs. Henderson, they hit three more houses, but as the lights start to go off in some of the windows, and the crowds of younger kids begin to thin, Kurt turns them around and takes his yawning little witch back home.

***

“Okay,” Sebastian says, climbing under the comforter with his worn-out husband, already in bed and reading a magazine, “I got the story from the munchkin while I was tucking him in. Now you tell me - how did it go?”

“About sixty/forty,” Kurt says, closing his magazine and setting it aside. “But to tell you the truth, by the time we reached our last house, I began to realize that most of the stress of the evening was on me. Nobody was trying to be mean to Thomas or anything. His costume just needed a little explaining. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Did you see the look on his face when he got home?” Sebastian lays down with his head in Kurt’s lap. “If anyone _did_ give him the evil eye, I don’t think he noticed one way or the other.”

“They didn’t,” Kurt reassures him.

“That’s good,” Sebastian says with a _they better not have or else_ expression on his face.

“That’s because we live in a nice, polite, mostly tolerant, sheltered little hamlet,” Kurt says. “We might have our differences with a few of our neighbors, but for the most part, they’re decent people.”

“Including Mrs. Sebiane?” Sebastian raises his eyebrows playfully, waiting for the rant he knows is coming.

“Okay,” Kurt says, talking with his hands, “I mean, I love butterscotch chips as much as the next person, but please! They shouldn’t go in everything!”

“She says it’s her secret ingredient.”

“Yeah, well FYI, it isn’t a secret, especially when everything she bakes comes out puke orange.”

“Oh, God!” Sebastian laughs. “That image is going to be burned into my eyes forever.”

Kurt crosses his arms, grazing his husband’s nose with his elbow, but Sebastian stays put. With his head in his husband’s lap is one of Sebastian’s favorite positions in the world. But before Sebastian’s eyes, the fire in Kurt’s expression dims, and an overall look of tired returns to his face.

“Bas?” Kurt stares at the wall when he speaks, at the pictures hanging there of their little family – Sebastian and Kurt on their wedding day, Thomas and Hepburn on the first day of school, his father and Carole from last Christmas, old pictures of Finn from way back in high school. His eyes land on those and stay there, on pictures taken in the choir room, the auditorium, the gym. “Is it awful that I hope that Thomas…isn’t gay?”

Sebastian sighs. He saw this coming, and not just because of tonight. It’s been weaving its way into the background of many of their recent conversations with regard to their son. Lately, with his anxiety issues and his OCD becoming more manageable, those haven’t been the huge, daunting problems they seemed in the beginning. But the moment Thomas asked Kurt if he could be a witch for Halloween, at the start of the school year when his class started reading selections by Roald Dahl, Sebastian had seen something foreign in Kurt’s eyes, something Kurt wasn’t talking about, something Sebastian himself had never even thought to consider.

“No,” Sebastian says, taking Kurt’s hand. “It’s not awful, sweetheart. It’s understandable. You don’t want him to have problems. You don’t want him to get bullied the way you did. You don’t want people to make the choice to hate him without getting to know him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“If the world were just a little bit different…” Kurt starts, but a sniffle stalls his progress.

“I know,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt’s hand. “And it’s Thomas’s generation that has to carry the burden of making it different. I mean, you and I, and the generation after us, we’re doing what we can, but I’m not sure it’s going to be what it needs to be when the time comes.”

“That’s part of what I’m afraid of,” Kurt says in a shaky voice. “I catch myself praying that if he is gay, that _he_ changes and not the world, and I…” Kurt’s words become a nervous laugh, “I kind of hate myself for it.”

“Hey,” Sebastian sits up, pulling his husband into his arms and rocking him gently. “It’s okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Isn’t that my job?”

“Yeah.” Kurt chuckles at his husband’s weak attempt at raunchy humor. “You’re not doing it very well if I’m thinking about all this crap.”

Sebastian laughs lightly, and kisses Kurt on the forehead.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he says. “You’d be a fool if you weren’t. But the important thing is that if Thomas ever does come to us and tell us that he’s gay, or bi, or pan, or ace, or trans, or anything else under the sun, that we’re the most loving, supportive parents we can be, right? We should live in the kind of world that accepts our son no matter what, not the kind he needs to change to live in, but…that’s not reality.”

“I know,” Kurt says. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Sebastian says. “It happens quite a bit. You always sound so surprised when you say that.”

Kurt looks at Sebastian, his smile wavering at the corners. “How did you get to be so smart?”

“I lucked out,” Sebastian says.

“Genetics?”

“Hell, no,” Sebastian says, squeezing Kurt tight. “I married a brilliant, compassionate, gorgeous man, and I think he’s rubbing off on me.”


End file.
